"Of course not," said Mme. Storey. "You can do something to help me, if you will. Go to her, and without revealing your object, try to have her downstairs in half an hour."
Mrs. Cruger, with a curious docility, made as if to obey.
Mme. Storey glanced at her watch. "But not before half an hour, please," she said. "I need that time."
Mrs. Cruger, with a nod of understanding, left us. Mme. Storey glanced at me with smiling eyes. But I was all at sea.
"I can make nothing of her," I said helplessly.
"She's eager to help us," said Mme. Storey, "as long as we don't come anywhere near the truth."
VI
Mme. Storey and I sauntered out on the terrace overlooking the dazzling flower beds—too dazzling, too well ordered, like everything else about Cariswoode. The elegant young gentleman had disappeared, but out of the tail of my eye I caught a glimpse of him watching us from the far end of the terrace. Mme. Storey and I stood at the parapet looking down at the gorgeous chequered design.
"Like a review of flowers," murmured my mistress. "Poor little soldiers on parade!"
Presently at our ears we heard a dulcet male voice: "It reminds one of the grand finale at the Hippodrome, doesn't it?"
Mme. Storey turned with her most delightful seeming smile. "You must be Jack Rowcliffe," she said.
"You have actually heard of me," he murmured. "I am speechless with delight!"
I edged away a little, as I was clearly not expected to take part in this conversation. But there was nothing to prevent me from listening. The other two half sat against the parapet, and continued in the same strain. The foolish young man did not know, of course, that Mme. Storey was most dangerous when she appeared to be willing to philander.
"I had no hope of ever meeting you," he said. "I can't aspire to your circle. Too clever for me."
"It all depends on what you regard as cleverness," said Mme. Storey. "I should say you were quite clever enough for your own purposes."
"Oh, I'm just a humming-bird," he observed with a disarming air.
From time to time he cast a rather hard glance at me, as if to bid me take myself off. Lacking instructions from Mme. Storey, however, I stood my ground. My mistress presently made her wishes plain by introducing me in form. Rowcliffe bowed, and paid no further attention to me.
I studied him covertly. Jack Rowcliffe was at this time the premier young man about town. One could not read a society column without coming upon his name three or four times. It was always written first among the list of bachelors attending a function. One imagined the society reporters rolling it unctuously over their tongues. I had often tried to imagine what sort of young man would be produced by such a life. My instinct told me it was a horribly unnatural one, but if one was young and did not have much fun, one could not help being impressed. I suspect that Jack Rowcliffe figured in the day-dreams of many a girl who had not the remotest chance of ever meeting him in the flesh.
Well, he was uncommonly good looking, with thick, sleek, black hair, and glowing dark eyes a little too big for a man's. He was no tame cat, though; the rest of his features were heavy, and there was a dangerous masculine suggestion about him that, I suppose, constituted his charm for women. His manner was self-possessed to a degree, but I was startled to perceive deep in his eyes, a hint of terror and pain, which he no doubt believed was safely hidden. I felt that in him we were drawing close to the tragedy of Cariswoode.
After a while his sense of the fitness of things impelled him to say: "I suppose we shouldn't be talking like this—under the circumstances."
Mme. Storey shrugged. "Very distressing," she said. "But after all it's not our affair."
I thought I saw a twitch of pain in his face; but he instantly said, with his eyes fixed admiringly on Mme. Storey: "What a big woman you are! Able to be so honest!"
"Well, I feel that I can talk more plainly with you than with the others," Mme. Storey replied. "What is your theory?"
He shrugged, and spread out his palms. "What is yours?" he asked boldly.
Mme. Storey likewise spread her palms.
"Of course, you're not giving anything away," he remarked.
"Perhaps I have nothing to give," she said. "What sort of girl was she?"
This time I was sure I heard the hint of a stammer in his ready voice. "A devilish handsome girl. That's all I can tell you. Only saw her twice when she came in to tea. Then she kept herself very much to herself."
"If she was so handsome," murmured Mme. Storey, "one would suppose you'd try to know her better."
"Oh, I'm on my good behaviour," he answered with a disarming laugh; meanwhile his eyes were perfectly wretched.
Mme. Storey reminded me at this moment of a great surgeon delicately wielding a steel probe. "One thing that hampers me is that everything in the room was changed before I got here," she said. "Did you see it before it was changed?"
"Oh, no!" he cried, off his guard. "I never went near it!" Feeling that he had given too much away, he quickly added: "There's was no reason for me to butt in."
"I suppose not," said Mme. Storey. "Did you know that Miss Mayfield was not expected at the Hyatts' last night? Where do you suppose she was going?"
"Maybe there was a man in the case," he remarked bitterly.
"Why should she conceal it? She had as much right as any girl to her men friends."
"The old party is a jealous old party," he said. "Wouldn't tolerate that Louise should have any interest apart from hers."
"You are observant," murmured Mme. Storey.
He darted a glance of pure terror in her face. Mme. Storey's eyes were cast down.
At this moment we perceived a distinguished-looking trio approaching without haste along the terrace. Mrs. Cruger was in the middle, overtopping both the other women. They made a notable picture in their exquisite light dresses, designed in the perfection of simplicity that only the very rich can attain to; all three moved with the air of those born to command. When they came closer a difference appeared. Miss McPeake lacked the expression of serene repose that the faces of Mrs. Cruger and Miss de Guion wore; an expression that not only hid the trouble of their minds, but denied the very existence of any trouble.
Miss McPeake was more richly dressed than the other two. With all her smartness, she was far from being a pretty girl, and at present her face was drawn and sharp; her eyes frankly tormented. This torment, whatever had given rise to it, revealed a mean nature. There was a hateful jealousy in the way her eyes pounced on Rowcliffe, and then bored rudely into Mme. Storey's averted face. A shocking display there in that highly bred little company. Rowcliffe frowned and rubbed his perfect black moustache.
He made haste to carry off the uncomfortable situation. "Mme. Storey and I have been taking a moment's respite from the horror," he said with his admirably assumed straightforward air. "If we dwell on it exclusively, we'll simply go off our heads."
Like a thunderclap came the girl's cry: "You fool!"
It was significant of the strain we were all under that nobody looked at her after she cried out.
"You fool!" she repeated. "Do you suppose she's taking any respite from her work of prying and spying? That's what she's here for! She's been pumping you! I can see it! She's been turning you inside out for her own purposes, and you don't know it, you conceited fool!"
With that she turned and ran away into the house.
It was an ugly exhibition, but there was the deepest pain in the girl's cry, too. One could not but feel sorry for her; for all of them, poor blind creatures! Mrs. Cruger merely shrugged, and Miss de Guion murmured perfunctorily:
"Poor girl! She's quite overwrought!"
It was very clear that neither of these ladies gave a rap for Miss McPeake's feelings in the matter. A curious thing was that Rowcliffe looked absolutely astounded by Vera's outburst. Whatever his own anxieties may have been, one would have sworn he didn't know what his fiancée was up to.
"Better go after her," suggested
Miss de Guion.
He hastened into the house.
"You will think we are all lunatics," murmured Miss de Guion, raising her pretty, plump, jewelled hands. The marvellous old lady had recovered her usual sang-froid. "It is the horrible suspense, the uncertainty. Why, even Bessie and I have been quarrelling bitterly all morning."
Mrs. Cruger cast a look of peculiar exasperation on her friend that I could not interpret.
"I believe lunch is ready," said Mrs. Cruger morosely. "But who wants any lunch?"
"My dear, you must eat something," urged Miss de Guion. "The governors of Upwey hospital meet this afternoon. I think you should be present just as if nothing had happened."
"You may think what you please," snapped Mrs. Cruger. "I'm not going!"
"But my dear—"
"That will do!" cried Mrs. Cruger, beside herself with exasperation. "I—" She checked herself with an effort.
The masterful old lady was not to be easily put down. She shrugged elaborately.
Mme. Storey and I left them on the terrace.
VII
As we were returning through the silent, thickly carpeted corridor, from one of the rooms on our right came a sound that sharply arrested our thoughts. It was the sound of a poignant whispering; two voices; a reproachful woman's; an angry man's. A whole drama was summed up in it. We could distinguish no word nor see the persons in the room, but we knew the speakers could be none other than Vera McPeake and Rowcliffe.
"Should we not listen?" I whispered.
Mme. Storey drew me on. Her lips shaped the words: "It is not necessary."
The room we were passing had a door towards either end. As we approached the second door, a few words did reach us. We heard the man's angry whisper: "I'm through! I'm through!" and we heard the woman repeat imploringly: "Jack! Jack!"
Mme. Storey's gesture signified: "That's all there is to it!"
Events followed fast after that. Upon returning to the little office we found a sealed envelope lying on the desk with Mme. Storey's name scrawled upon it. Upon opening it, my mistress read the letter it contained, and handed it over to me without comment. I read the headlong phrases in astonishment.
DEAR MME. STOREY:
I cannot keep silent any longer. You're on the wrong track. That girl was not the sweet, pure soul they would have you to suppose. That was just a blind to cover her schemes. I saw through her immediately. She was perfectly unscrupulous. She was just a servant, anyway. She was determined to get on, and if she couldn't get on, she meant to make as much trouble for others as she could. That was the kind she was. Perfectly rotten under her sweet and dignified airs. It was through men that she worked her schemes. All men were the same to her. She knew how to get them going without appearing to. Whatever happened to her, she richly deserved it. A word to the wise is sufficient.
VERA McPEAKE.
There was a knock on the door. I handed the letter back to Mme. Storey, who slipped it under the pad on the desk. Rowcliffe came in. There was a startling alteration in him. The gallant philandering air had given place to a hangdog look. His eyes were lowered; his chin was on his breast. One instantly liked the man better. This at least was honest.
"I want to speak to you a moment," he mumbled.
"Sit down," said Mme. Storey. "Have a cigarette."
He waved it away. "Can I speak to you alone?" he inquired significantly.
"Miss Brickley is present at all interviews," said Mme. Storey. "It is my rule. You can depend upon it, it would not be so, unless I had absolute confidence in her."
"Makes it harder," he muttered.
There was a silence, for Mme. Storey made no further move to help him out. I was trembling a little with excitement at the prospect of the confession I expected to hear.
"I suppose you suspect me," he began. "It's natural after the way I tried to conceal things from you—foolish, I suppose. But I couldn't help it—oh God! I couldn't bear to expose my heart before everybody! Nobody thinks I can feel anything—I've been through hell today! I can't stand it any longer. At any rate I've just broken it off with Vera. That's something. I've taken a horror of her—"
He fell silent. Mme. Storey presently said: "That is not what you came to tell me."
"No," he answered very low. He was leaning forward in his chair with his arms resting on his knees and his head down "I was lying when I said that Louise was nothing to me. I—I cared for her very much. Oh, I loved her with all my heart! I had seen her before she came up here. Many times. Whenever I went to Miss de Guion's. The first time I saw her she was just another beautiful girl to me. I made up my mind to have her. I thought I had only to make up my mind. But she laughed at me! Perfectly willing to be friends—but nothing doing. Ah! what a laugh she had! I had to laugh with her, though it was at my own expense—I lost my head completely. I adored her. She understood me through and through. I could be honest with her. She was charitable to my faults—but nothing more. When I told her she was driving me mad, she said she was sorry, but I was simply paying the price for the others. And she was right!
"When she came up here on Sunday it was simply more than I could bear—living under the same roof with her. She kept out of my way. Finally I made up my mind to ask her to marry me. I have no money, but—but we could have made out somehow. I knew she didn't love me, but I thought if it was a case of saving me from damnation, she might—she might— She was so kind! But I never got a chance to ask her. This thing happened. And now it's too late—too late!"
There was a long silence, broken only by his stifled sobbing. To see a man break down like that is too dreadful. I heartily wished myself away from there.
As Mme. Storey made no comment, he finally raised his head. "That is all," he said. "Did you expect something more?"
She shrugged.
"You surely can't think that I—" he began, aghast. "Why I—I adored her. It was a good feeling, the best I ever had. I would have cut off my hand to serve her! Oh, you're wrong, you're wrong!"
"I am not accusing you of anything," said Mme. Storey mildly.
He presently got up, and made his way heavily towards the door. When he opened it I caught a glimpse of Vera McPeake waiting close outside. Her face was transfigured with hatred and jealousy. She could not have heard what Rowcliffe was telling us, but she must have guessed its purport. The door closed.
Mme. Storey and I exchanged a glance. "Do you believe him?" I asked.
"As far as he went."
"But in that case we are exactly where we were when we started!"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said.
In a few minutes there came another knock on the door, and Rowcliffe entered once more. His face was now as white as paper, his eyes so wildly distraught it was impossible to tell what feeling had given rise to it, whether grief or terror or both. There was simply no sense in his eyes.
"I—I just wanted to ask you—to forget what I said just now," he stammered. "I mean about Vera—Miss McPeake. I must have been out of my senses. We are still engaged, of course. I beg of you—oh, what must you think of me! Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" He turned abruptly and went out.
"I suppose Vera waylaid him outside," suggested Mme. Storey.
"Yes, I saw her," said I.
"Poor wretch!" murmured Mme. Storey. "He is paying!"
VIII
Bracker, the princely chauffeur, upon Mme. Storey's invitation, seated himself gracefully. Being a chauffeur, he was entirely at his ease. Perfect men of the world, the chauffeurs of the rich; I wonder it is not dangerous to have them around, they show up to such advantage.
"I won't keep you but a moment," said Mme. Storey deprecatingly.
He took it as a matter of course, which caused me an inward chuckle.
"I understand from Miss de Guion," my mistress went on, "that on your way back from Ridgefield early this morning, you had a stoppage."
"Yes, madam, the tank went dry."
"How did that happen?"
"I'
m hanged if I know, madam. We had plenty of gas when we started."
"You think you had."
"I looked."
"Gasolene gauges are so untrustworthy."
"I know they are. So I unscrewed the cap and measured with a stick that I keep for the purpose. There was a good ten gallons."
"And you get?"
"Seven miles to the gallon, madam."
"Then six gallons should have taken you to Ridgefield and back?"
"Easily."
"Perhaps you had a leak."
"No, madam. She was tight, and is still tight."
"How about your speedometer?" asked Mme. Storey.
"I get you," he said with a quick look. "As to the total mileage I can't tell you; you lose track running around. But I set the trip dial every morning in order to keep tab on the gas. When we got home this morning it registered sixty-nine miles. Just what I drove her yesterday."
"But by pulling out a stem anybody can set the trip dial either forward or back?"
"Certainly. But if it's your idea that somebody used the car, I must tell you I have my own way of preventing that."
"Any objection to telling me what it is?"
"Not at all. It's just a hidden switch I installed, back of the main switch under the cowl."
"You left your car, I suppose, while the party was going on?"
"Yes, madam. I locked the body of the car, and went up to Mrs. Van Brocklin's chauffeur's rooms. He was having a sort of party, too. There was a lot of us there."
"Where were the cars parked?"
"Most of them were in a large yard or enclosure at the side of the house, but Mrs. Cruger told me to leave ours out in front, as she would wish to leave early. So I left it in the drive, a few yards short of the front door. It is expected that Mrs. Cruger's car should take the best place."
"Were there other cars in front?"
"Yes, madam. Two or three behind ours."
Mme. Storey tapped reflectively on the desk. "Are you and Mr. Rowcliffe friendly?" she asked suddenly.
"Why, yes, madam," he said, surprised. "Mr. Rowcliffe's keen on cars. An A1 chauffeur and mechanician too. Only last night he rode outside with me so's he could smoke, and we talked."
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